God Called In Sick Today
by Nurse Ansalong
Summary: Character death. Songfic done to song of the same title repost. Pip reflects on a horrible deed he's done. Beginning AN revised.


Lyrics written by AFI. I am not affiliated with them. Characters are owned by Matt/Trey and probably partially by Comedy Central.

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_Let's admire the pattern forming, murderous filigree, I'm caught in the twisting of the vine.  
_  
I don't know what drove me to do it that day. I honestly don't. And as I watched myself in the mirror, I stared at what I had become. It scared me. Now I stand, shivering, in the snow, watching everyone. They all say the same thing, that I look like a dead man. If they don't fear me, then they don't care about me. Still. I look up at the sky, at what? for God, or the sun, something that's slightly positive in nature.  
_  
Go ascend with ivy climbing, ignore and leave for me; The headstone crumbling behind._

Wendy can't look at me without breaking into sobs, her breath catching in her throat, tears pouring from her eyes endlessly. She wouldn't look at me at the funeral. I was there, my eyes didn't leave her for an instant, and she never once looked at me. I was feeling quite guilty, until it shed off, paving the way to pain, then to this; I've even stopped caring about that. I push my hands into my pockets. Butters still talks to me though there is a new distance between us. At first, I fought tooth and nail coming back here, to this hideous place, this ghastly place so full of haunting memories. But I had no choice. The only good thing out of this is they no longer call me French, or fartboy, or spit on me. For that, I'm thankful.

_I can't help my laughter as she cries; My soul brings tears to angelic eyes._

It started one morning in the school bathroom. I was struggling to do my homework before class started when Stan came in. He proceeded then to call me stupid, French, everything imaginable, laughing. I couldn't take it anymore, I lunged at him, grabbed him by the throat and threw him against the wall. His eyes had one thing in them: fear. I could feel it emanating from his whole being. I started to cry, as I stared at him. I don't know if I attacked him because he just happened to be there calling me names, or if it was the name calling, or if I thought it would solve all my problems. He yelled, for his precious Wendy. I pushed harder on his throat, surprising even myself with my strength. Wendy came in, then, screamed for me to stop. But I didn't. Stanley was still, then, and I was still pinning him to the wall. I let go only when I was sure he was dead. Wendy sobbed, looked at me, asked me why. She looked so stupid then, sad over the life of a hateful, cruel being. I started laughing manically. I don't know what was funnier; that I'd killed a person, or that the wretched soul being mourned for was just that, wretched, evil, yet still being mourned for. I left, then, and walked home.

_Let's amend the classic story, close it so beautifully; I'll let animosity unwind._

As more people got over the shock, they got more cautious around me, watched their words. For a moment, I thought everything was ok. Some people were even nice. I haven't said a word, verbally, for almost two weeks now, but even through that some people still hold doors open for me, let me take cuts, if you will, at lunch, etc. At first, for about 5 days after the incident, I hated them. All of them. More than I had before. I would sob, late at night, releasing pent up frustration due to the hatred. But now... I don't hate them so much as I don't bother to care. This person stares, this person avoids me, what's the difference? Nothing changed, I still have no friends.  
_  
Steal away the darkened pages hidden so shamefully; I still feel the violence of the lines_.

"Have you honestly ever felt pain, Stanley? Have you ever sobbed and stared down the barrel of a gun knowing no one would care when they found your body? I DIDN'T THINK SO!" I had said that to him right before he lapsed into unconsciousness. I try to forget. Everyday I try to throw away that part of my memory. The words I spoke were so mean, tinged with anger, pain, and maybe even some fear. I close my eyes and lean against the wall. I feel a tear fall, and suddenly wish a friend was near to brush it away in an act of affection, forgiveness. But I don't want to be forgiven, I'm not sorry for what I did. I brush the tear away myself, keeping my eyes closed as not to see everyone staring, or avoiding my look. Maybe I am just a bit ashamed. It wasn't right to kill him, but it feels right. I know it shouldn't.  
_  
I can't stand my laughter as they cry, my soul brings tears to angelic eyes_.

I hear a few people cry, as they walk past my silent form, and I start laughing softly to myself. I wish I didn't laugh anymore, it's not right. But I feel righted, now that it's stopped. It's over. One part is. Now all I have to do is get past this. I'm sure it'll end soon. how do I know? I don't. All I can do is hope now, hope that it can all go away without my losing temper again. Of course, I could always run away, because I know no one cares enough to look for me. No one cares. I shuffle back to class and think about everything, finally deciding God called in sick today. Not just today, God called in sick on my life. No one cares.


End file.
